The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [56]
“Princess Deokhye, the poor thing, is twelve. She’s the Gwangmu Emperor’s last child. Oh, how he doted on her! He had many children, and many died young. Only four are left, including the Yunghui Emperor. Princess Deokhye’s mother, Madame Bongnyeong, whom you’ll also meet, was the Gwangmu Emperor’s third concubine. The women live in Nakson Hall—the Mansion of Joy and Goodness—in Changdeok Palace; the princess in the third house, the most colorful.” She studied me for a moment and said, “I will tell you a secret. She’s been betrothed to the nephew of the lord steward for some years now, but unlike your engagement, it’s a necessary arrangement to protect the bloodline. Yes, I know about your betrothal. I see a thousand questions written on your face. You have much to learn before I’ll venture taking you to the palace.”
Her casual way of being critical made it easy to accept, and I froze my features and waited, hoping she’d say more about the royal family. I knew that the former emperor Gojong’s reign was titled Gwangmu, and that he had remarried after Queen Min’s death, but I hadn’t known he’d also had concubines. Jaeyun’s eyes would open wide if she heard all this, and especially that I would meet the princess! This last thought gave me shivers of nervousness. The princess might be my junior, but she would be accustomed to manners I didn’t even know about. I pledged to work hard and learn from Imo. She said nothing more and rummaged among the fabrics, and I kept silent too.
She called Kyungmee, and after undressing to my slip I was measured, prodded and exclaimed over. Accompanied by many tsks of dismay, bony was the most-used adjective during this ordeal. Imo chose five different pieces for skirts and two sheer neutrals for a half-dozen blouses, for this season, she said, with more to come for fall and winter, a wealth that exceeded my mother’s and father’s wardrobes combined. In addition to a stipend from her dead husband’s family, Imo’s riches came from land in the south managed by a younger brother, her only sibling. Her widowhood allowed her to spend impetuously, but I knew my mother would frown at this excess. “Imo-nim—”
“Yes, child.” On the floor she smoothed lengths of rose-pink silk with an interwoven butterfly pattern and laid the measuring string against it, while Kyungmee wiped the scissors and snapped them open and shut.
“They’re so beautiful, and so many, I’m embarrassed— Is it— Will I really need all these clothes?”
A quick smile passed through Kyungmee’s neutral features before she bent to cut the silk, and I guessed I’d said the right thing. Imo handed me my clothes. “Not really. You probably only need three.” She had the practiced smile from before, but this time her lips matched the softness in her eyes. “But look how much fabric I have just sitting in this chest. Why not indulge a little? I’ve hardly made new clothes since—in a very long time. It’ll be a pleasure.”
I knew that Imo’s husband and son had been killed by the Japanese almost fifteen years ago, though I didn’t know the whole story. Her genuine enthusiasm and her response had made it possible for me to not appear greedy. I bowed low, as graciously as I could, and used the honorific idiom. “This person gives deepest thanks, Imo-nim.” She was so pleased she clapped her hands.
Imo’s instruction took fifty days. She was a firm perfectionist and tried to inspire me by saying that when the present empress was betrothed, she had completed her far more stringent training in an impressive twenty days. I relearned how to sit, bow, eat and talk with an exacting precision that made me long to be home running in the gardens with Ilsun. I memorized the royal genealogy